Mountains

A wind blows across my face, drawing me toward where the sun lays its head.

I can only follow this rush of air.

Over rivers and flat lands, the wind still blows through.

The tall reeds bend toward their descendants' promised land.

So, my feet keep on steppin'.

Towering pines above my head bend their branches down to

Unveil majestic stone adorned with green ornaments.

The mountains are calling, and I must go.